


Death Wish

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:16:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only Paul and pull this off</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Wish

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #20 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"He survived Vietnam, what can one fifteen-year-old do to top that?"_

 

          Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse stared at his clean desktop, smug satisfaction making his chest puff just slightly.  He shook his head, his expression one of pure amazement.  He was actually caught up on the endless river of paperwork that flowed over his desk on its way to who-knew-where.

Caught up!  For the first time in weeks!  No, he mentally corrected himself, he was caught up for the first time in several, _long_ months.  It was an incredibly satisfying feeling, and he took the time to savor it.

          He ran his hands over the smooth, highly polished surface of the dark oak desk and sighed softly.  His eyes dropped half-closed and he allowed himself a small smile.  Caught up…  Free of the paperwork ball and chain…  He could do whatever he wanted the rest of the day, and if the damned aliens interrupted whatever it was he was going to go do, he'd hunt them all down and kill them – today.

          He hated paperwork.  It was the worst part of promotion in the U.S. Army.  It seemed to Ironhorse that, the higher up the career ladder you managed to climb, the more paperwork you were forced to fill out.  It was a clear correlation, a constant, haunting annoyance.

          But he'd finally won a major battle.  He was paperwork- _free_ , at least temporarily.  And he was determined to enjoy each and every moment his victory survived.

          A light knock on his closed door caused the colonel's brow to wrinkle with suspicion.  The last thing he wanted was someone bringing him any paperwork.  Not now.  It was too soon.  He wasn't ready to surrender to reality just yet.  He couldn't.  The fates would steal his victory away that quickly, would they?

          But he couldn't refuse to respond.  His sense of duty wouldn't allow that.

          He drew a deep breath, and steeled himself.  "Come in," he stated, a slightly defeated tone coloring his words.

          The door opened and Sergeant Norah Coleman stepped into the colonel's office.  She shut the door behind her and walked to the front of his desk, taking up a rigid attention stance.

          "At ease, Sergeant," Ironhorse said, wondering what she could want or need.  He'd carefully checked to see if she was carrying anything in her hands, and she wasn't.  "Can I help you?"

          "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

          The colonel's eyebrows arched and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his desk.  "Granted.  Have a seat, Coleman."

          The pretty blonde sergeant slid into the leather chair positioned across the desk from Ironhorse with a grateful sigh.  "Sir," she began, her gaze carefully averted, "I'm not sure how to say this, so I'm going to be blunt…  If that's all right?"

          "Please," Ironhorse replied, his curiosity increasing.  Sergeant Norah Coleman was seldom at a loss for words.

          "Sir, it's Debi."

          The colonel's expression turned worried.  "Debi?"

          Coleman sighed again, then said in a rush, "Sir, I know Miss McCullough needs to learn how to drive, and I understand why Omega was given the assignment, but, sir, I'm sorry, I just can't do it.  I'll take on aliens, terrorists, opposing armies, but I just can't get back in that car again.  I can't."

          Ironhorse leaned back, studying the woman.  She sounded earnest, and she looked appropriately embarrassed.  She was also completely serious.

          "Why?" he asked.

          "She's—" Coleman started, then stopped.  A deep breath later she said, "Sir, maybe a professional instructor…?"

          "She's _that_ bad?" the colonel asked, looking slightly wounded.

          Coleman hesitated, then nodded hesitantly.  "Sir, I feel that my life is better spent in the service of my country."

          Ironhorse nodded.  "Very well, Sergeant.  Ask Stravakos to take over the lessons."

          "Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.  Thank you," she replied, her tone relieved.  She quickly stood and fled the colonel's office.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Three days later Ironhorse stepped into his office after his morning run, a long, hot shower, and some of Mrs. Pennyworth's famous cinnamon French toast only to find Sergeant Stravakos already waiting for him.  The young man stood rigidly at attention, his gaze fixed on the far wall.

          "Sergeant," the colonel said, stopping just inside the door.  "Something wrong?"

          "Yes, sir," he immediately replied, then corrected himself just as quickly, "No, sir.  Nothing alien-related, sir.  But something?  Yes, sir."

          Ironhorse blinked, hoping he'd managed to interpret the man's reply correctly.  "Have a seat, Stravakos," he said, gesturing for the sergeant to sit as he walked around his desk and sat down himself.

          The youngest of his three sergeants plopped into the leather chair with a defeated sigh.

          "So, what's brought you here?"

          Stravakos met the colonel's eyes for a brief moment, then looked away.  "Sir," he said, "I—"  He stopped and sighed again, this sound sounding even more defeated than the last.

          "Yes?"

          Stravakos forced his chin up so he could met his commander's eyes and said, "Sir, I'm sorry, I really am, but I want— No, I _need_ to be relieved of my current duty."

          Ironhorse was taken slightly aback.  "Has there been an emergency?" he asked.  He'd specifically asked for soldiers who weren't married, those with few, if any family ties.  He was sure Stravakos was an orphan.

          Stravakos hesitated, then realized Ironhorse didn't understand.  "Uh, no, sir.  I don't mean my duties here at the Cottage, sir."

          Completely at a loss, Ironhorse demanded, "Then what duty are you talking about, Sergeant?"

          "The, uh, driving lessons, sir."

          "Driving lessons," Ironhorse repeated, his eyes narrowing.

          "Yes, sir.  Please, sir."

          With a half-frustrated, half-annoyed sigh the colonel leaned forward, asking, "And why would that be, Stravakos?"

          The large, powerful, special forces soldier slumped in his seat, his shoulders sagging.  "Sir, I thought I'd been through— Sir, you know the kind of training we get, sir.  There isn't much that can scare— She's— I'm sorry, sir.  I just can't take it any more.  I can't."

          "You've only been giving her lessons for _three_ days!"

          "Yes, sir.  I know, sir.  Please, sir.  I can't—"

          "All right," Ironhorse interrupted, his hands coming up to silence Stravakos.  He really didn't want to see one of his men beg.  "Ask Derriman to take over.  He survived Vietnam, what can one fifteen-year-old do to top that?"

          "Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.  I really appreciate it, sir.  I—"

          "Dismissed," the colonel interrupted again, pointing at the door.

          "Yes, sir," Stravakos said, swiftly escaping the colonel's office.

          A moment later Ironhorse heard a relieved whoop a moment before the front door closed.  He shook his head, wondering if he shouldn't rethink his criterion for choosing the soldiers posted at the Cottage.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse concentrated on pulling in deep, regular breaths as he neared the end of his ten mile run.  He glanced down at his watch, making sure he was still over two minutes faster than his usual time.  He was.

          Rounding the last turn, he forced himself to pick up the pace one last time, sprinting the last hundred yards to the foot of the steps leading up to the patio.  When he stopped, he leaned forward, his hands just above his knees, gulping in air as he checked his time – two minutes, thirty-two seconds faster than a week earlier.  He smiled, satisfied with the results of his new physical program.

          He heard someone approaching and straightened.  It was Derriman, and the man's expression was as grim as Ironhorse could remember.  He waited for the sergeant to reach him.

          "Beggin' the colonel's pardon, but I need a word with you, sir."

          "Up here," Paul replied, leading the way to the patio where he'd left a towel and a large glass of water.  He wiped his face first, then drained the glass.

          A moment later Mrs. Pennyworth stepped outside with a tray filled with a second glass of water, cup of coffee and the morning paper.  She set it on the table, then smiled and said, "You're getting faster and faster, Colonel.  Before long I won't be able to keep you with you."

          Ironhorse grinned.  "Don't think that's possible."

          The housekeeper smiled, the twinkle in her eye telling Paul he was right.  She disappeared inside to get breakfast ready.

          The colonel gestured for Derriman to take a seat, and the sergeant did, waiting until Ironhorse was also seated and had had his first swallow of coffee before he said, "Sir, I have a problem."

          "Problem?" Paul asked, leaving the paper as it was.

          "Yes, sir."

          The colonel waited for a moment, assuming that John would continue.  When he didn't, he set his mug down and asked, "And you are planning to tell me what this problem is, aren't you?"

          Derriman looked up, meeting the colonel's eye, a slight smile on his lips.  "Yes, sir, just tryin' to find the best way to go 'bout it."

          "Come on, John," Paul encouraged, "we've known each other too long to beat around the bush, just tell me what's on your mind."

          "Well, Colonel, it's this assignment you passed along to me."

          Paul dropped back against his chair and sighed.  "Debi's driving lessons?"

          Derriman nodded.

          "You, too?"

          Another nod.

          Ironhorse leaned forward again, pitching his voice low, just in case anyone might be up and moving around in the house.  "What _is_ the problem?"

          Derriman sighed heavily and shook his head.  "Colonel, I'd like to live long enough to collect retirement, spend a few years passin' the time with a fishin' rod in my hands.  The aliens make that hard enough, but, well, sir, let's just say I don't have a death wish and leave it at that."

          Ironhorse dropped back against his chair again, carefully considering Derriman's words – all three of his sergeants, undone by a fifteen-and-a-half-year-old teenager.  Highly trained, special forces soldiers, who would rather face invading aliens than a few driving lessons.  How bad could she be?

Debi was a bright kid, he rationalized, and she learned fast, so why was this any different?

Granted, putting a teenager, any teenager, behind the wheel of a car was, in his opinion, asking for nothing but trouble, but Debi was more responsible than her peers.  Still, she'd scared off three of the best covert military operators this side of Delta Force and the Navy SEALs.  How?

"Colonel," Derriman added, "I'm askin' as a friend, find someone else.  Stein, Alverez, hell, Goodson."

Ironhorse nodded.  "You're relieved, Sergeant."

"Thank you, Colonel.  I appreciate it.  I really do."  He pushed to his feet.  "Uh, who's gonna be the, uh, next victim?"

Paul thought for a moment, then looked up and said, "No, Derriman, I can't see asking one of the other men to do something you, Coleman, and Stravakos couldn't manage.  Hell, Stravakos only lasted three days."

"Yes, sir," Derriman agreed.  "At least Norah made it five days.  I always knew that woman had grit."

Ironhorse glanced up, wondering if Derriman was pulling his leg, but the sergeant looked serious.  "And you made it six days."

          "Yep," Derriman acknowledged, "guess the 'Nam hardened me up more 'n I ever thought."  He snorted softly and shook his head.  "Never thought I'd be grateful I served three tours."

Ironhorse swallowed hard.  It must have been much worse than he'd imagined.

"She's gonna be real disappointed," Derriman said, shaking his head.  "Had her heart set on getting that learner's permit next week."

The colonel's heart skipped a beat.  Derriman was right.  Debi had been counting down the days until she could get her permit since her fifteenth birthday, and there were only seven more to go.  If she wasn't ready in a week…  He shook his head.  Teenage ire was still something he preferred to avoid, at all costs.

"I'll arrange something," Paul promised.

"Well, good luck to you, sir," Derriman said, turning to go.

"Thanks," the colonel replied, watching the man leave.  "I'm obviously gonna need it," he added under his breath.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Later that day, as the colonel sat at his desk, reading a report on Suzanne's latest research results, a knock sounded on his closed door.

He looked up and called, "Come in," before he realized who it must be.

 _Damn_ , he thought.  _I was hoping to put this off a little longer_.

Debi slipped into his office, a worried expression on her face.  "Colonel," she greeted.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, already knowing what she was going to say.

She fidgeted a moment, then plopped into the leather chair with a heavy sigh.  "I'm supposed to get a driving lesson now," she said, then pouted for a moment.

"And?" Paul asked, postponing the inevitable for as long as he possibly could.

"No one showed up," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and glowering at him.

"Ah, right.  That," Paul said.

"I've only got a _week_ left," she said, blue eyes still shooting daggers at him.

"Well, Debi, it's just—"

"You _promised_ ," she reminded him.

"I know, but—"

"And Mom can't do it.  She says you told her that she has to have some dumb report done."

"It's not a dumb report, Debi.  It's—"

"And Norton said he would, but I can't drive the green machine unless I'm in a wheelchair, too."

"That was very nice of Norton—"

"And I can't even _find_ , Harrison."

"Ah, well, he's probably…"  He wanted to say "hiding" but decided that might be a bad idea.  "…busy."

" _Everybody's_ busy."  She sighed and pouted some more.

"I'm sure—"

"I need to pass that test.  You said so yourself," she whined.  "Can't you do it?"

"Well, I—"

"Just today?" she pleaded.  "Please?  You can make one of the soldiers do it tomorrow."

"I'd like to, but—"

"Please?"

Common sense told him he didn't want to do this, not if his sergeants had bailed, but how could he say no?  She looked so desperate.  And she'd be so mad at him if he said no…

"I suppose—"

"I knew you would!" she squealed.  "I'll meet you in the parking lot.  Can we drive the Jeep?"

"I think we better stick with the Taurus," Paul said, wondering briefly if his will was current and up to date.

She frowned but didn't argue.  "Oh, all right."  Then she brightened again.  "Ten minutes?"

"Okay," he agreed, suddenly feeling like a condemned man.

"See ya there!" she called, already half out the door.

The colonel sat for a moment, then took a deep breath and pushed to his feet.  _This was my idea_ , he reminded himself.  _I don't have anyone to blame but myself.  So, I've just got to go out there and deal with it_.

But he didn't want to.

 _Move, mister_ , he ordered himself.

With a last, defeated sigh, he headed for the front door.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The three sergeants stood outside the coach house, waiting for Ironhorse and Debi to return.  They had been gone about forty minutes.

"Think she'll do it?" Coleman asked.

"Yep," Derriman replied.

"She better do it or we'll be running circles around the perimeter 24/7 'til doomsday," Stravakos muttered.

"She'll do it," Derriman assured the younger man.

"She is good," Coleman said, pride in her voice.  "You know, I only had to show her the mind-eraser three times and she had it."

"Yeah?" Stravakos asked.  "It only took me twice and she had the puke-spin mastered."

"Wow," Coleman said, "took me four or five times to get the hang of that one.  What else did you teach her?"

"Let's see," Stravakos said, "uh, puke-spin, on-a-dime stop, and fish-tail.  You?"

"Whiplash turn, reverse runaway locomotive, and lateral lane change," Coleman said.  "Oh, and the mind-eraser."

The two sergeants grinned at each other, then looked at Derriman.

"What did you show her, Sarge?" Stravakos asked him.

Derriman leaned back against the side of the building.  "Well, hotrod start, Newton's acceleration/deceleration, zigzag, right-angle turns…"

"And?" Coleman asked, knowing there was more.

Derriman tried to look innocent when he said, "Two-wheel corners."

"What?" Stravakos bellowed.  "Oh, man, the Colonel's gonna _kill_ us for that one, Sarge!"

"How?" Coleman asked.

"Found a bump at the south end of the parking lot, on the turn to the south runway."

"Oh, man," Stravakos moaned, shaking his head.

Coleman chuckled.  "Between the three of us I think we covered ninety-percent of the moves we learned in that offensive/defensive combat driving course the Colonel sent us to."

"Yep," Derriman agreed.

They fell silent, still waiting for the return of the colonel and Debi.  After a couple of minutes passed, Coleman frowned and asked, "Did either of you show her how to parallel park?"

"Uh, no, I didn't," Stravakos said.

"Me either," Derriman added.

"Damn," Norah sighed.  "She's going to have to know that to pass the driving test."

"Maybe Ironhorse can show her that one," Stravakos said, starting to grin again.  "If he'll ever get back in a car with her…"  He laughed.

"Maybe we oughta suggest Dr. Blackwood be given that honor," Derriman suggested.

Coleman smiled widely.  "You know, if we suggest that, it might just save our sorry asses."

"I think you might be right," Stravakos agreed, nodding to the driveway where the red Taurus was approaching.

Debi was driving, and she swung into the only open parking space like a pro, immediately hopping out of the car.  She flashed the three sergeants two thumbs up, grinning like a mad woman.

The passenger side door opened slowly, and there was a slight pause before a hand reached up and grabbed the top of the door.  A moment later Ironhorse pulled himself out of the seat and stood, holding on to the door for support.

"She did good," Coleman breathed softly, the awe clear in her voice.  " _Really_ good."

As the three sergeants took in the colonel's grayish-green complexion and his slightly trembling hands, Stravakos said softly, "That suggestion about Dr. Blackwood's the only thing that's gonna keep us from a firing squad."

"Yep," Derriman agreed as Ironhorse looked up, seeing the threesome.

"Sergeants!" he bellowed, loud enough to rattle nearby windows.  "My office!  _Now!_ "

Paul watched the three sergeants sprint for the Cottage and disappear inside, then grinned.

"You're not really mad at them, are you?" Debi asked, a little worried.

Ironhorse glanced over at the girl, still marveling at her quickly acquired combat driving skills.  "No, but I'm not going to tell them that.  Well, not right away, anyway."

Debi grinned.  "That was fun.  Can we go do it again?"

The colonel felt his stomach lurch slightly.  "We'll see."

"Please?"

He shook his head.  Now that she'd learned the skills, he might as well make sure they stayed honed.  After all, the abandoned municipal airport was a perfect location to practicing combat driving skills.  "Okay, but don't breath a word of this to your mother or she'll skin me alive."

"I won't.  I promise," Debi assured.

"You better go read your road rules book again, make sure you know how _regular_ people are supposed to drive."

Debi grinned.  "I've already memorized all the rules."

Paul watched the teen head for the house, then shook his head.  His sergeants had set him up.  Grateful to be alive, he headed for his office.  He was going to enjoy returning the favor.

Now, if there was just some way he could figure out how to get Blackwood in the passenger seat with Debi…


End file.
